Just Let Go
by Galaxy-Defending-Hopeful
Summary: Danny is ill, Tom is grieving, Dougie can't cope, Harry isn't himself. Are they still people without Danny? Flones, mentions of cancer, mentions of coma, HAPPY ENDING! Sorry for my long absence, real life stuff got in the way of writing gay stories.


**First off, I can only apologize for my long absence from this site and this fandom. I've had a lot of school work to contend with (GCSE's are poopy) and I had McBusted the other night (ridiculously amazing), plus I've kind of dried up, inspiration-wise. I hope this is okay. I broke my own heart writing this! Original prompt was 'hug', but I kind of went off track just a touch. WARNING: mentions of cancer. Flones. I don't know anything about the medical world and I am aware that some of the parts are kind of made up and wouldn't happen in the real world, but I had to have a happy ending.**

* * *

Dougie sat close to Tom's left side, his arm tightly around him, while Harry sat to his right, also clinging to him. None were crying: they merely sat numbly together, a large collection of photographs spread out in front of them. The most recent one was dated to the 14th of February 2013, and showed Tom tearfully sat beside Danny in their bedroom, his hand drawn through Danny's tiny, skinny hand, his other hand tenderly adjusting the younger man's home drip. One year previously.

"When will it stop hurting?" Tom suddenly burst out, startling Harry and Dougie. His outburst seemed to trigger the other two, and within moments all three were crying, collapsing against each other. They hadn't released new music since 2012. They didn't even know _what _they were any more – were they still a band without him? Were they still people without him?

* * *

14th February 2013. Valentine's Day. The chemotherapy seemed to be going very well for Danny – in fact, they doctors thought that his chances of survival had increased to almost 50%. It wasn't terminal, anyway.

"Tom, could'ya get me a glass of water, please? Sorry, I just-"

Tom smiled weakly, putting his hand over Danny's mouth. "Don't say sorry for needing me to get you things, prat. I swear, I've told you this a million times."

"Sorry." Danny replied, a small smile playing on his own lips. Every time he was forced to ask for something, essentially bedridden by his lung cancer and therefore inability to breath properly, they had that little exchange, which always ended in Tom getting whatever it was that Danny needed, and usually something else too, like a bar of chocolate or some biscuits, just to tempt the brunet. Not that Danny ever ate more than a mouthful of them – the chemo and radiotherapy made him feel constantly sick, and besides, his gums were bleeding more often than not too.

"Do you remember when I got chickenpox, back in the bandhouse, and you practically waited on me hand and foot?" Tom asked as he handed over the glass of water, before sliding into the double bed with Danny and trying hard to find his free hand, so skinny and twig-like after week of not being able to eat. Danny nodded, smiling.

"And then how you got it, and Dougie and Harry did nothing for either of us until they got it and them were as melodramatic as possible about it all?"

Danny laughed that time, before falling off into a coughing fit which lasted for a minute. Afterwards, Danny leant back, his face pale and slick with sweat, his chest rising and falling heavily as he tried to breath with uncooperative lungs.

"Shh, Dan, shh. Deep breaths, come on, remember what Doctor Patel said, in, two three four, out, two three four..." Tom spoke quietly, giving up on trying to reminisce with Danny – obviously it was affecting him too badly if it made him laugh. When Danny's breathing steadied to his usual, heavy, dog-like state, Tom decided to ask a question which had been playing on his mind ever since Danny had first apologetically retired to bed, almost two months previously.

"Danny?"

Danny looked up, nodding slightly.

"If you could let go, just slip away and die, would you?"

Pink lips clamping together, eyes widening. After a few seconds, Danny hesitantly shook his head before raspily replying, "I haven't yet."

"You mean, you _could _just slip away if you wanted to?"

In Danny's eyes, tears began to well up, and he nodded. "I'm staying for you."

Physical pain shot through Tom as he realised that the only reason Danny was still alive was to try and ease his suffering, and tears began to dribble from his eyes before he could stop them.

"Danny, why don't we have a little gathering? Get Harry and Dougie to come here this afternoon, watch some old videos, maybe you could eat a little bit?"

Danny stared at Tom for a long moment before the true reason Tom was suggesting that occurred to him – so that he could let himself die afterwards, having given them a goodbye.

"Would you mind?" Danny asked, and Tom couldn't hold it in any more – crying fully, he rolled over and clung to Danny, burying his head in the crook of the man's neck.

"I love you, Danny. That's why I can't mind."

Danny felt a little ashamed that he didn't feel guilt, only relief that he wouldn't have to carry on with his useless lungs after the afternoon. He could just let go.

* * *

"Harry?"

"What's wrong, Tom? Is Danny-"

"Danny's fine." Tom responded, before laughing mirthlessly. "Well, no, that's crap. He's absolutely awful. That's why I'm calling. Do you and Doug want to come over this afternoon and...make memories?"

There was static on the phone line for a few moments before Harry's voice came back. "We'll be there in ten minutes."

It was a twenty minute drive from Harry and Dougie's house to theirs.

When Tom put the phone down, he turned around to Danny. "Dan, I'm just going to tidy up a minute – Dougie and Harry are on their way."

Danny nodded, clenching and unclenching his hands.

* * *

Four hours later, after Dougie and Harry had arrived, made jokes, pulled out DVD's of footage from cameras they had in the band house (there was some rather...unsavoury...footage on some of them) and finally left, each leaving Danny with a huge hug and a goodbye which felt all too permanent, Tom sat down softly beside Danny.

"Dan, are you okay?"

Danny was crying, tears rolling down his freckled cheeks as he tried to stop them uselessly with a corner of the duvet.

"I don't know how to say goodbye." he told Tom. "I don't know if I can."

Lying down beside Danny, Tom gently wound his arms around him, placing his head on his chest. Feeling the erratic rise and fall, Tom clutched a little bit of Danny's t-shirt in his fingers. "Just say the word."

"I love ya, Tom. I love ya so, so much."

"Danny, I love you too, I will never stop loving you. I love you I love you I love you-"

Tom's words became nonsense as he repeated the words over and over again, feeling Danny slump his head to Tom's, his soft, damp lips against Tom's own fluffy blonde hair.

"I love ya Tom. Please don't forget me..."

"I won't, Danny. I love you..."

There was a moment of silence before Tom heard Danny's breathing slow even further. From his position he could feel that Danny's heart beat was already slowing. Just how hard had Danny been fighting to stay alive. Danny was asleep, in that horrifying instant, and so Tom slowly slipped out of bed, reaching for his mobile. Three numbers. 9 9 9.

"Hello, Ambulance, Fire or Police service?" the woman on the end of the phone was shockingly chirpy.

"Ambulance, please." Tom was choking on his sobs. After a moment there was a click on the end of the phone and another voice asked Tom what was wrong.

"My partner, he's got lung cancer...he's gone unconscious, he's barely breathing..."

It struck Tom how hypocritical he was being: instead of letting Danny go like he promised him he would, he was calling the emergency services. Suddenly mindless, he quickly listed off his address, before dropping the phone and sitting back beside Danny. He was still breathing, and his heard was still pumping, but both were slow and barely there.

* * *

"Mr Fletcher?" the nurse on the end of the phone sounded absolutely joyous, and this spiked a tiny bit of hope within him. Maybe she was just calling to say something about their planned visit to the long-term coma ward in the afternoon?

"Yes, nurse?"

"Danny's waking up. He's responding with his hands, and although he's not said anything or opened his eyes, we think he might wake up properly in the next day or so. You need to come to the hospital."

It took a moment for Tom to absorb the words – a year on, and suddenly Danny was waking up? Suspicion filled him.

"Is this a prank call?" he asked, bitterness filling him.

"No, Tom – it's Rachel, Nurse Peters – you've got to come to the hospital!"

"We will!"

Tom slammed the receiver down in its socket, before spinning around to Harry and Dougie, who both looked concerned. The doctors had cured the cancer in Danny's vegetative body just months previously, leaving him with an essentially healthy but lifeless body. They told Tom it was something that occasionally happened, if a patient gave up, that their body would lock down and only come back after it was sure it was safe.

"Danny's waking up."

Harry and Dougie stared up at Tom from the sofa, not truly understanding his words for a second. When they sank in, both men leapt up, jumping all over Tom and hugging him.

"I'll drive." Harry quickly volunteered, and the other two agreed – out of the three of them, he kept his head best in situations. Tom would probably drive dangerously fast, while Dougie would be all over the road, and would be dangerous.

"Guys, remember what the doctor told us just after he...went to sleep."

Danny's doctor at the time, a tall, grey-haired man called Doctor Baker, had firmly told them, 'If he awakes, he may be totally vegetative, unable to verbally respond.'. It seemed an impossible prospect, however – their Danny, silent? Rubbish.

* * *

Tom sat to Danny's right side, while Harry and Dougie sat on his left. His mother and sister were on their way, but from Bolton to London was a long drive. The doctors and nurses were very clearly and loudly asking Danny questions such as 'Are you in any pain?', 'Do your lungs feel better?' and 'Do you know where you are?', and Danny would respond by clenching either his left or right hand, left for no, right for yes. He was almost certainly not vegetative, the doctors said, judging by his mouth and eye movements.

"Can...can we ask him some questions?" Tom hesitantly asked when a lull came in the questions.

"Go ahead." a nurse told him, smiling. "You must be dying to talk to him."

Tom almost laughed at loud at that – dying probably wasn't the right word.

"Danny, can you hear me?"

Danny's right hand clenched tighter than it had before.

"Do you know who I am?"

Right hand.

"Me, Dougie and Harry are here. Your mum and your sister are almost here. Are you trying to wake up?"

Right hand. Three times in a row.

"Is it difficult?"

Right hand.

Tom paused, so Dougie began to speak.

"C'mon, Jones, wake up – we've been waiting for a bloody year, you could at least make it timely."

The nurses laughed at that, despite the disapproving glances that the doctors gave them. Danny's hands both clenched then.

"Dude, your cancer's pretty much gone, you're in remission – wake up so we can get out of here." Harry chipped in. Tom laughed out loud when both of Danny's hands squeezed again. Just two hours previously they had all been crying together over Danny and how they had lost him, and how Danny seemed almost back again. Just not awake.

"Is there anything you can do to wake him up?" Tom asked one of the doctors, the three awake McFly guys turning to him hopefully. There was a long moment of silence, with the doctor's eyes focusing on Danny, before he quietly said,

"We don't need to."

The three spun around so fast they almost gave themselves whiplash. Danny's eyes were flickering open. For the first time in exactly a year, the three saw a glimpse of his clear blue eyes, now clouded over with confusion.

Tears began to flow. Wonderful, happy tears.

Nine months later, the first tour back began – after Danny had regained his ability to walk, that is.


End file.
